From Macbeth Act V Scene 5

9 `` And then the whining school- That ends this strange eventful From Macbeth Act V Scene boy, with his satchel history, 5 And shining morning face, Is second childishness and To-morrow, and to-morrow, and creeping like snail mere oblivion, to-morrow, Unwillingly to school. And then Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans Creeps in this petty pace from the lover, taste, sans everything. day to day, Sighing like furnace, with a To the last syllable of recorded woeful ballad From Hamlet Act I, Scene III time; Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Polonius (to his son Laertes): And all our yesterdays have Then a soldier, There ... my blessing with thee! lighted fools Full of strange oaths and And these few precepts in thy The way to dusty death. Out, bearded like the pard, memory out, brief candle! Jealous in honour, sudden and Look thou character. Give thy Life's but a walking shadow; a quick in quarrel, thoughts no tongue, poor player, Seeking the bubble reputation Nor any unproportion'd thought his That struts and frets his hour Even in the cannon's mouth. act. upon the stage, And then the justice, Be thou familiar, but by no means And then is heard no more: it is In fair round belly with good vulgar. a tale capon lined, Those friends thou hast, and their Told by an idiot, full of sound With eyes severe and beard of adoption tried, and fury, formal cut, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops Signifying nothing." Full of wise saws and modern of steel; instances; But do not dull thy palm with From As you Like It, Scene And so he plays his part. The entertainment VII sixth age shifts Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg’d All the world's a stage, Into the lean and slipper'd comrade. Beware And all the men and women pantaloon, Of entrance to a quarrel but, being merely players: With spectacles on nose and in, They have their exits and their pouch on side, Bear't that th' opposed may beware entrances; His youthful hose, well saved, a of thee. And one man in his time plays world too wide Give every man thy ear, but few thy many parts, For his shrunk shank; and his voice; His acts being seven ages. At big manly voice, Take each man's censure, but first the infant, Turning again toward childish reserve thy judgement. Mewling and puking in the treble, pipes Costly thy habit as thy purse can nurse's arms. And whistles in his sound. Last buy, scene of all, 10 But not express'd in fancy; rich, not must teem, plant squash and spinach, gaudy; Create her child of spleen; that turnips and tomatoes; For the apparel oft proclaims the it may live, beauty is nectar man; And be a thwart disnatured and nectar, in a desert, saves-- And they in France of the best rank torment to her! but the stomach craves stronger and station Let it stamp wrinkles in her sustenance Are of a most select and generous brow of youth; than the honied vine. chief in that. With cadent tears fret channels Neither a borrower, nor a lender be; in her cheeks; Therefore, marry a pretty girl For loan oft loses both itself and Turn all her mother's pains and after seeing her mother; friend, benefits Show your soul to one man, And borrowing dulls the edge of To laughter and contempt; that work with another; husbandry. she may feel and always serve bread with This above all: to thine own self be How sharper than a serpent's your wine. true, tooth it is And it must follow, as the night the To have a thankless child! But son, day, Away, away! always serve wine. Thou canst not then be false to any man. The Wasp Poem/ Verity Bargate Farewell; my blessing season this in Advice to My Son/ Peter Meinke thee! Today I drowned a wasp that I The trick is, to live your days Found floating in my wine. as if each one may be your last Its life no longer is its own,. (for they go fast, and young men But neither is it mine. From King Lear, Act I, Scene lose their lives With cool precision turned by hate IV in strange and unimaginable ways) I drowned it in the sink Hear, nature, hear; dear but at the same time, plan long It struggled in the water goddess, hear! range But I didn't stop to think. Suspend thy purpose, if thou (for they go slow; if you survive I didn't feel a pang at all, didst intend the shattered windshield and the I didn't change my mind, To make this creature fruitful! bursting shell I didn't even really feel Into her womb convey sterility! you will arrive That this was cruel, unkind. Dry up in her the organs of at our approximation here below It metamorphosis exists increase; of heaven or hell). Perhaps a wasp I'll be And from her derogate body And I won't feel resentment never spring To be specific, between the peony If you do the same to me. A babe to honour her! If she and the rose I may regret the sunshine, 11 The pollen and the jam, parents stem, jostling, jockeying for place, small fights But I'll understand you're drowning me Has something I never quite gasp to breaking out and calming. One says to Because I'm what I am. convey another About nature’s give- and- take - the How old are you? Six. I'm seven. So? Metaphors/ Sylvia Plath small, the scorching They eye each other, seeing themselves Ordeals which fire one’s irresolute clay. tiny in the other's pupils. They clear their I'm a riddle in nine syllables. throats a lot, a room of small bankers, An elephant, a ponderous house, I have had worse partings, but none that they fold their arms and frown. I could A melon strolling on two tendrils. so beat you O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! Gnaws at my mind still. Perhaps it is up, a seven says to a six, This loaf's big with its yeasty rising. roughly the dark cake, round and heavy as a Money's new-minted in this fat purse. Saying what God alone could perfectly, turret, behind them on the table. My son, I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf. show - freckles like specks of nutmeg on his I've eaten a bag of green apples, How selfhood begins with a walking cheeks, Boarded the train there's no getting off . away, chest narrow as the balsa keel of a And love is proved in the letting go. model boat, long hands Walking Away/ C.D. Lewis cool and thin as the day they guided him Among Ourselves, Alstair Maclean out of me, speaks up as a host for the sake of the group. It is eighteen years ago, almost to the Among ourselves we rarely speak, We could easily kill a two-year-old, day - Our tongues are thick with custom, he says in his clear voice. The other A sunny day with the leaves just turning, Inside our house, at this time of the year, men agree, they clear their throats The touch-lines new ruled - since I There's only the ticking of the clock, like Generals, they relax and get down to watched you play And the click of my mother's needles playing war, celebrating my son's life. Your first game of football, then, like a And she knits herself away from where satellite She cast on. My father's pages rustle. Wrenched from its orbit, go drifting away He makes himself a nest of newspaper, Solo/ Sharon Olds I sit in a corner smoking. Every time Our son shrugs into his macho jacket Behind a scatter of boys, I can see I draw on my cigarette I hear With the swollen shoulders, he swings his You walking away from me towards the The tiny hiss of tobacco becoming ash. sports bag school Over his shoulder, runs his fingers With the pathos of half-fledged thing set Rites of Passage/ Sharon Olds through his free Blown-dry feather-cut raises an eyebrow, Into a wilderness, the gait of one As the guests arrive at my son's party Tosses his keys, flips a token and is Who finds no path where the path should they gather in the living room-- Out the door to karate. IN the bad be. short men, men in first grade His gi and belt lie coiled. That hesitant figure, eddying away with smooth jaws and chins. I turn the lock, I lean on the door Like a winged seed loosened from its Hands in pockets, they stand around 12 And hear him joggle the old elevator this house without her, without her pure Because it is quicker than dyeing my hair. button and then depth of feeling, without her creek-brown Because it is a ten-minute moratorium. Kick it with a flying kick hair, her daedal hands with their tapered Because it is reversible. And then I hear it, for the first time, fingers, her pupils dark as the mourning And the last time, I hear him sing cloak's Five or six pure, slow wing, but I can't. Seventeen years From The Prophet/Kahlil Gibran Soprano notes, like part of a Mass, ago, in this room, she moved inside me, Mass for the end of a man's childhood. I looked at the river, I could not imagine Your children are not your children, Just those few, clear tones my life with her. I gazed across the They are the sons and daughters of Life's In the hall narrow as an echo chamber, street, longing for itself. A, B-flat, C, F, and saw, in the icy winter sun, They come through you but not from you, Whole isolated, sweet, that voice a column of steam rush up away from the And though they are with you, yet they Which has not changed since it first earth. belong not to you. sounded, There are creatures whose children float You may give them your love but not His throat opens, and he breathes a low away your thoughts, O. at birth, and those who throat-feed their For they have their own thoughts. young You may house their bodies but not t heir High School Senior /Sharon Olds for weeks and never see them again. My souls. daughter For their souls dwell in the house of For seventeen years, her breath in the is free and she is in me--no, my love tomorrow. house of her is in me, moving in my heart, Which you cannot visit, not even in your at night, puff, puff, like summer changing chambers, like something dreams. cumulus above her bed, poured You may strive to be like them, but seek and her scalp smelling of apricots from hand to hand, to be weighed and not to make them like you. --this being who had formed within me, then reweighed. For life goes not backward not tarries squatted like a bright tree-frog in the with yesterday dark, I Shall Paint my Nails Red/ Carole You are the bows from which your like an eohippus she had come out of Satyamurti children as living arrows are sent forth history Let your bending in the Archers' hand be slowly, through me, into the daylight, Because a bit of colour is a public service. for gladness. I had the daily sight of her, Because I am proud of my hands. like food or air she was there, like a Because it will remind me I'm a woman. mother. Because I will look like a survivor. I say "college," but I feel as if I cannot tell Because I can admire them in traffic the difference between her leaving for jams. college Because my daughter will say ugh. and our parting forever--I try to see Because my lover will be surprised.